Waiting On An Angel
by Callianassa
Summary: 8th July 07: Nick deals with Lexi, Warrick comes to a terrifying conclusion, Grissom goes to visit Sara... GSR, Yo!Bling and more to come... CBS own the basics etc.  Please read and review!
1. S8 E1 1

**Author's note: **

It's been a while since I've written real fanfiction. It's been even longer since I posted it on here, so please leave constructive criticism! Everything will be taken into account.

My style for this project is to create my season eight - just while we're waiting to get the real stuff back on TV (September is a long way away after all!) Please don't take it too seriously, and enjoy.

I write more by scene than by chapter, but each chapter is marked up as to season, episode and scene number…

Enjoy!

**Callianassa**

**x**

**Waiting On An Angel**

_Waiting on an angel,_

_One to carry me home,_

_Hope you come to see me soon,_

'_cause I don't wanna go alone…_

The colour was draining from his face as each raindrop splattered against the pavement. He felt so helpless, standing there, staring out, waiting to hear something. _Anything._ The pain gnawed at his stomach, knotting it as his fingers twitched against each other.

Dispatch had been sent out in a vain attempt to comb the roads as a monsoon-like downpour soaked the sands and Grissom had been sentenced to remaining in the laboratory, unable to focus in the state of turmoil his mind had been tossed into. While Warrick and Brass attempted to squeeze the smallest detail out of Natalie to give away Sara's location, he had to remain here.

Waiting.

And in his mind, all he could do was regret not telling her how much he loved her sooner. She was everything to him: his heart, his soul, his mind. She challenged him, she offered him what he wanted. She was his perfection.

_Damn it._

His hand slammed in frustration and anger against the desk. Damn all of this to hell, he wasn't going to let her go. He couldn't. Not now, not now that they were only just getting so strong.

He walked through to his office and stared at the miniature scene on his desk. The car, the stretch of road, the hand desperately reaching for help. There had to be something on this that would give him a clue: Davis was too sharp to overlook a thing.

_Come on, Gil._

Picking up the model of the red Mustang, he peered over the rim of his glasses at it for what felt like the thousandth time in an hour. There had to be something. He wouldn't let there not be. He'd already searched every grain of sand on the base, with no result: he needed to change approach.

The scratches, the dents, the paint chips: they offered him nothing. He was about to replace the model with a sigh of heartbreak and resignation when he caught his breath, spotting it.

A single fragment of glass, hanging from the broken rear-view mirror. And on it, the glimpse of a sign is reflected back at him. Snatching his magnifying glass from the countertop, he looks at it closely.

She was on the loneliest road in America.

His phone was against his ear before he even realised he was holding it, and he heard Nick's tone on the other end of the line.

"She's on Route 50." Grissom's voice was sharp and clear in its instruction. "Near a signpost: they're stationed at every three miles: get everyone out there from as many directions as possible, you need to cover as much ground as you can as soon as you can, she-" _Won't have much time left. _"She needs to be found."

"We're on it, boss."

"Please find her, Nick." There was a tinge of desperation in him as he finished the call, and he looked absently as the cell phone as he replaced it on the table beside him. _Please._ All he wanted to do was join the search, but he knew he was better employed here, doing the little more he could.

At least they had something more to go on now.


	2. S8 E1 2

Morbid silence filled Nick's Denali as he pushed his foot to the ground and accelerated forward on the wet stretch of dusty road. Out here, the highway intermingled with the desert: there was nothing there to stop the sand from blowing where it chose to, little in terms of plantation or anything else: the crunch of the wet sand beneath his wheels was the only sound that reached him.

Nick was one of those guys whose entire mind could only focus on one thing at one time. Now, as he drove, he was staring out at the desert stretches, peering through the rain in an attempt to look for the Mustang. Grissom's confession of love had had little effect on him - Nick thought that Grissom loved all of his team - and so his only thought was to look for his friend.

The police radio stapled to his dashboard buzzed, suddenly hot with voices. "We've got her." He snatched it up instantly, jamming his finger on the button as he demanded to know where she was.

With his satellite navigation giving him instant directions and distances, he was there within ten minutes: as Grissom had quite rightly spotted, there was a sign not too far from the overturned vehicle, and several of the squad cars had dragged up beside the wreck.

As some struggled to overturn it, Nick dropped down to his knees at the side, searching for her hand: he needed to comfort her, support her, tell her it would be alright.

But there was no hand there.

"Sara?"

His hands dug in the dirt, reaching beneath the car, desperately trying to find her. The mud splashed into his eyes, soaked his clothes, as he grovelled in the muck in his search, but to no avail.

She wasn't there.

There was no way of searching for anything in this downpour: any evidence that had been there had been washed away. But Nick was confused: surely Natalie wouldn't stage an entire scene to make Grissom fearful. Would she? With these crazy people, he never knew. But he bit his lip and reached for his phone.

Here was a call Gil wouldn't be expecting.


	3. S8 E1 3

Her eyes opened, sticky and tired. She felt as if she'd been hit over the head, repeatedly with a heavy, blunt object, and that groggy and heady feeling made her want to vomit. That, and the movement of the car as it swerved rapidly around another.

"Hey, you're awake."

She didn't know the voice, but Sara's instant reaction was to attempt to know who she's with. Was that Natalie? No, the sound was different, warmer and more comforting. She wanted to stammer something, make herself known, but her mouth was swollen and her jaw painful. What the _fuck_ happened?

"Listen, it's all okay." The driver looked over at her, her hands still squeezing the wheel tightly. "We're getting to a hospital: it was just easier to take you onto Route 95, we'll get somewhere quicker than backtracking through the desert."

Although Sara couldn't quite make out her face in her haze, she felt herself allow a slight sigh of relief as the woman beside her reached for her hand: she was making herself known, trying to relate, attempting to gain trust.

And at that particular moment in time, Sara was going to have to trust blindly.

"So I'm going to keep talking to you now, okay?" It was an attempt to keep her engaged, to stop her from slipping into an unconscious state once more. "My name's Lexi. I'm a reporter, working in Vegas. Twenty-three, single, the usual, you know?" She laughed slightly, somewhat nervously, and tried to think of something else to say. "Your vest tells me you're LVPD. I did some work with one of your guys, he helped me with a story, maybe you know him? His name's Grissom."

"Grissom."

The word sounded distant to Sara's ears as she repeated it, but her heart struck furiously at the thought of him. As she closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds, she could see his face, could feel her fingers tracing over the stubble on his cheeks.

The driver glanced across once more as she slammed her foot on the accelerator and turned the car at a jerking ninety-degree angle as she gets off the state route and on her way into a smaller town. There would be a hospital somewhere, they'd be able to help keep her going: this small-talk obviously wasn't helping. She was determined not to lose her.

Knowing better than to talk about the accident, she continued the line of chatter that had sparked Sara's interest. "Yeah, Grissom. He's one of those CSIs, you know the ones that do all that forensic detective stuff you see on TV? Nice guy, actually, helped me with an article I was writing."

The wheel of the car bumped over the edge of the sidewalk as she turned another corner a little too sharply. "Whoopsydaisy," she mumbled, straightening the car up on to the right side of the road. "Nearly there, chick, stay with me."

Sara could feel her lungs tightening with exhaustion and pain, and she winced, her fingers grappling with her companion's in a desperate bid for her attention. Lexi was intent on getting to her destination and remained focused on the road, but she spared a glimpse at Sara as her passenger's grip faltered and her hand fell.

_Don't you dare…_


	4. S8 E1 4

When Nick had declared that she was nowhere to be found, Grissom hadn't been able to hold himself in the lab any longer. Without a thought, he had headed straight for his car and set on the road out: now he was standing there, staring at the eerily familiar scene with a scowl on his face and confusion in his mind.

Where was she? Why wasn't she there? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Sara was a fighter, he knew that for sure, and if she'd had the ability to climb free, she would have done it. But then she would still be here.

The rain had finally ceased, and he stared at the sandy, muddy mess surrounding his ankles. Now the weather had calmed, Nick had sent the flag guys out to look for anything; he himself had already spotted a footprint and called Gil over.

"I've got what looks like a shoe impression over here, boss," the Texan murmured, pointing down. "Some kind of high-heel. I wonder if-"

"Sara was wearing flats. Sneakers, she couldn't find her black slip-ons this morning," Grissom responded quietly. The look he received in response was one of naïve confusion, but Nick simply shrugged and continued.

"Now Natalie was wearing sneakers, I noticed that. Which means-"

"-someone else was here?"

Grissom began to walk down to the road, hoping for a glimpse of a tyre burn or track, a broken bit of glass, something, but Nick called out after him. "The rain's destroyed anything we would have got from there, Griss. It's been a bad night, we… we won't find anything here."

He puts his hand on the older man's arm, and finds his own heart sinking as he feels the shudder that runs through Gil. The silver-haired one looks silently down at his feet before speaking.

"Call the lab, have Brass find out if Natalie had an accomplice. She might have had someone working with her, someone who thought they'd take Sara for… ransom, or something." It's clutching at straws and he knows it. "She has to be somewhere, Nick, and I'm going to find her if I have to die trying."


	5. S8 E1 5

"Where is she?"

Brass slammed his hands down against the table in front of the stale-faced woman as she sat there, leaning back in her seat and staring blankly forth at him. It was that look of derision and ridicule in her absent eyes that was beginning to really irritate him: if he were allowed to touch these suspects, this one would have been throttled by now.

No answer was returned to him, and he sent a look to Warrick. The CSI simply shook his head, unable to bear to watch this any more.

"Who were you working with, Natalie?"

Her eyes opened wide at this as she looked at him quizzically before turning back to Brass. Her lips parted to speak, but no sound came out, and Jim, realising she had been knocked, continued.

"Yeah, didn't you know? Your little miniature wasn't quite as accurate as you wanted it to be." The suggestion enraged her, and her nostrils flared with fury as he continued. "Sara Sidle wasn't underneath that car when we found it." Another pause, before he smiled with that patented, twisted Jim Brass smile and added, "You screwed up."

"NO!"

The officer in the room shot forward to suppress her as she made an angry, snarling move at Jim. Warrick, with a blink of comprehension, took to his feet now and made for Brass to follow him out of the room.

As the door shut on her once more, leaving her within the mirrored room, struggling and kicking and screaming against the man who pinioned her arms and cuffed her, Brass glared furiously at the door before murmuring,

"She screwed up. Without intention: someone ruined her plan."

Warrick stretched his neck to the side: his back was stiff from sitting in interview for such a long time. "Who, though? We have nothing to go on except some unmatchable generic high-heel print in wet sand. And she," he motioned with his head back toward the interview room, "she evidently doesn't know."

He started to walk, his tall dark figure a sight to see beside his short, balding companion, and they went round into the break room. While Warrick made a bee-line for the coffee pot, Jim sat himself down in a seat, his head pounding.

"Why have we always got someone after our guys, huh?" he murmured quietly. "Grissom, Catherine, Nick, Greg. Me. We've all had our turns. And now Sara, just when everything seemed to be settling down…"

His phone rang, the tone was shrill in the quiet break room and he pulled it out of his pocket. The number was unknown to him as he looked at the screen, but he flicked it up and pressed it to his ear.

"Brass."

"Sorry, hi, my name is Lexi Stranhope. I'm trying to get hold of someone from the LVPD?"

Brass frowned. "Well you've got someone, this is Captain Jim Brass."

The voice on the other end of the phone went quiet for a moment before continuing. "In which case, you must know Sara Sidle. She's… she's with me, at the Valley Rain Hospital, just on the Nevada/Cali border? I honestly don't know what she's got left in her, though… Can you get here?"

He was already halfway out the door as she said it.


	6. S8 E1 6

Grissom's demand to see Sara was louder than he thought, and even the nurse behind the reception desk seemed a little surprised at his impertinence yet pointed him in the direction of his request. He jogged down the white corridor, the smell of bleach and cleanliness filling his nostrils, before pushing the door open and halting himself, his hand on the doorframe.

"Sara."

The word gave his entire body power when he most wanted to collapse: seeing her lying there, linked to so many machines and wires and tubes hurt him to his heart. He could feel his body shaking as he edged nearer, terrified of the sight he could see but not quite comprehend.

And then he was standing, his feet at the very edge of the bed, his hand brushing against hers, his skin touching her, hoping for life from her. His eyes scanned her face: she was expressionless, lost in sleep…

"She's been unconscious for the past half hour."

The voice behind him was vaguely familiar, and he turned to see a young woman sitting in the visitor's seat. She was tall, shapely, her dark hair matted and wet, her clothes soaked with mud and dirt: he hardly recognised the girl he had previously worked with. "I tried to keep her talking, but she was too exhausted."

"You… found her?" Grissom extended his hand, taking hers. "My gratitude to you is of levels you will never comprehend," he murmured, his voice softening. "Can you tell me what happened?"

Lexi's eyes fell back onto Sara, as did Grissom's as she began to speak. "I was on Nevada 50, driving along, doing my own thing when this red Mustang starts to really tail my heels, you know? So there was I, trying not to let it slam my back when it just skidded off to the side. I figured it was probably because of the rain…" She frowned. "This big grey hummer followed it off the road, so I thought they must have pulled over to help, and carried on my way. Except it really started to bug me, about fifteen miles down the highway. So I turned back."

In his head, he was noting down a thousand points of her statement. The speed of the car, the conditions of the road, the presence of another vehicle - Natalie's vehicle? - following her off the track into the desert sand.

"Thank God I did," Lexi added, motioning towards Sara with a nod. "She was struggling to get out, doing pretty well for having a tonne of crap on her, you know? I saw it was totalled, upside-down on top of her. I dug the sand away with my hands." She laughed a little now, pointing to the state of her clothes. "Hence this. But, I managed to drag her out, get her to my car. She woke up for a little bit of the ride, but it was a close call to get her into the state she's in now."

She was silent for a moment before standing up and putting a hand on Grissom's shoulder. "The doctor said that… she's going to need to really fight."

He was reduced to no more than a half-whisper as he murmured,

"She's always been the strongest person I know."

---

"Here."

Lexi looked up to see a cup of coffee extended in her direction. She smiled slightly at the young man offering it to her and accepted it with a grateful gaze. It was well into the middle of the night and a chill was running through the air, pacing its way through the empty halls of Valley Rain, and Nick's offering was happily taken.

"Griss tells me we have a lot to thank you for," he said softly, taking the seat on the bench beside her. "Something of a hero, it seems." Lexi smiled at this concept and shook her head, wrapping both hands around the cup to warm her fingers.

"I don't feel like a hero. I almost left her there. I… I could have turned back sooner. Maybe she wouldn't be sitting in this precarious position if I'd just stopped when I first thought to."

She seemed distressed and reflective, doubting her own strength, and Nick slid across the bench, pressing his side against hers, resting one hand on her shoulder to comfort her as he said,

"You have done so much in bringing her here and calling us, Miss Stranhope. I mean, look at Grissom." He motioned towards the glass window into Sara's room, and he watched for a moment as his boss whispered in silence to the deathly-still figure lying in bed. "If he hadn't had this chance, he'd never have forgiven himself. You can never shoot yourself down for the events of tonight. Ever. And you have to promise me that, too."

She was about to open her mouth and voice agreement but, at that moment, Sara's room door was thrown open. Grissom shouted down the corridor, screaming for help, for someone to come, and two or three nurses ran instantly into the room. Lexi leapt to her feet almost instantly, her fingers loosening on the coffee cup as she heard the continuous beep of a flat line.


	7. S8 E1 7

Gil stared absently forth as Catherine sat herself in the seat opposite. The cafeteria was empty, those two being its only occupants, and the quiet was unexpectedly eerie to Catherine's ears: yet she respected it, simply putting her hand down to cover her friend's in comfort.

"I left it so long, Catherine."

Inside, he was tearing himself apart, it was clear to her, yet his face was so serene. Grissom had always had two sides to him, but it was never more obvious than at this moment: his expression could never be at such peace without inner turmoil in such circumstances.

"Since I met her, I've loved her. She's been my most enterprising student, a pleasure to teach and to know, the person I've respected most. So many times she… she tried to tell me how she felt. So many times I ignored how I felt about her, thinking that they were the fantasies of an old man. And then I gave into her, gave into what we'd both been feeling for so long. It was the right thing to do. The consequences weren't important. Until now." He paused, turning his eyes up to her now and finding reassurance in her presence. "I love her, Catherine. And if anything, _anything _happens to her, I…"

His words gave way to a breathless sob, and Catherine could do nothing but lean across the table and hold him, her arms wrapping around him in an embrace. Her long fingers stroked his hair as she whispered,

"She'll be okay. You know Sara, she's… stubborn, and fierce. She's too tough to-" _Die._ The reality of the moment hit her. "Gil, I understand that she is important to you, of course I do. I came out here as soon as I heard because I wanted to be here: for her, for you, for our team. But the only thing you can do is let the doctors do their job and just… wait."


	8. S8 E1 8

Nick had never been a smoker, but _God_, could he do with a cigarette right about now. Standing outside, leaning against the hood of the Denali, his hands buried under his armpits and the condensation leaving his mouth in clouds each time, he was a somewhat lonely sight to see.

Just like all the others, he had been forced to confront the mortality of human life, again, and he wasn't liking what he had come across.

"Yo."

He looked up to see Warrick approaching, walking across the car park towards him. He too looked cold, despite being wrapped in his LVPD vest, but he ventured across to join him, standing beside him for a moment before joining him in sitting on the bonnet.

"I just couldn't deal with being in there any more," Warrick said quietly. "I've not even been here that long, and already it's getting to me: I dare to ask how you're doing."

Nick exhaled heavily, an attempt at a laugh leaving in that breath as it rushed out of his lungs. How was he doing? The whole situation brought reminiscence to his own fate only two years previously, and he was… finding it hard to say the least.

But he wasn't going to tell Warrick that.

"I'm dealing, you know? I just hope she'll be okay, that's all."

Warrick laughs a little, rolling up his sleeves, despite the cold and leaning back, his elbows against the metal of the car. "Doesn't it make you doubt what we're doing? Here we are, fighting the crazies, but there'll always be another one, going after someone you love. Why do we do it?"

"Because otherwise there will be more crazy people at any given time," Nick answered sensibly, if not a little innocently. "More crazy people doing more crazy thing. What we do is cull the craziness."

His companion laughed at his guileless statement. Nick often came out with things that people would term 'stupid', but it was his honest and determined world view that offered forth these things.

"She was lucky to have that reporter girl around."

Nick smiled a little at this, looking down at his hands. The time he had spent talking to Lexi, soothing her, had sparked a little genuine affection, and mention of her now from Warrick's mouth made him blush with interest.

"Lexi's a saint."

Warrick raised an eyebrow at this statement and smirked, letting it pass by temporarily. "You think she'll be okay?"

To this, Nick pressed his lips together and looked back in the direction of the hospital. "Man, I really hope she will be." He paused before adding, "Now I'm not usually a praying man, but I trust that the guy upstairs is listening, you know?"

---

"Hi, Sara."

His voice bordered on crumbling as he uttered those two words, but Grissom tried his best to stay strong as he drew his chair closer to her and reached out for her hand to hold onto.

"They said it was okay for me to come in now," he murmured. "You gave us all a bit of a shock there: they were surprised you made it through." He squeezed her hand ever so slightly now. "I knew you'd make it. I have every faith in you. I always have had."

It had taken well over an hour to stabilise her erratic heart-rate and oxygen levels, but finally she was on track once more. It had been an hour of agony for Gil, and he'd had his time to reflect. Now, he wanted to share.

"You and I, we're going to San Francisco when you're out of here. We're going to go back to the university, repeat our old mistakes in my old office. And I'm going to take you to Mexico, just as we planned before. There are some amazing sights out there, and I have some friends I want to introduce you to." He smiled as he thought about it, and closed his eyes as he continued to talk. "I think we should take a break from Nevada, you and I. Maybe go away somewhere, laugh at the Canadians or see what Portugal is like. Just the two of us."

He swallowed, realising that his wishes were to remain fictional for now. "You have to wake up, Sara. For us. For… for me."

She offered him no response, but lay in Sleeping Beauty-like silence. God, he wished for her health to return to her, for her safety to be assured to him. He wanted to hold her, love her, tell her how he could never live without her and smile as she told him to stop being overly-sentimental. His time for secret and unspoken love had passed: now he was waiting for the opportunity to afford him a second chance.

_Please._


	9. S8 E1 9

While Jim took his turn sitting beside her, the group assembled once more in the cafeteria. Greg, in his drive up to the hospital, had grabbed what paperwork he could and brought the file with him to provide their anxious minds with something to do.

Grissom sat to the side, watching as Nick led the case: he was too distracted to even think about leading his team. Nick was doing a good job, however, and he offered out the collection of photos he had gathered so far: the miniature, the scene itself, a map of the area. He had taken Lexi's statement and gave this as fresh evidence to Catherine, Warrick and Greg.

"Can we pin this to her?" Catherine inquired, sipping from the edge of her coffee cup. "I mean, yes, it's a trend, but we have to have some evidence."

"I've set the guys in the lab to chase the Hummer," Nick nodded. "And the Mustang has been taken in: I've got James from Days to print it, get us something to solidly hook Natalie to this scene. There is no way I'll let her get away with this."

Warrick voiced his agreement. "Mm-hmm, I don't think any of us will let her get away with it, man. If Sara can give us something too, we can lock her up."

"When." Grissom's input was not expected at that moment, and Warrick raised an eyebrow.

"When?"

"_When_ Sara can give us something."

His faith was so strong, and Warrick smiled with a touch of sadness as he acknowledged his mistake. "When she can give us something." He bears a grim grin back to the others around the table and puts his hands down on the table. "The other thing we need to work out is how she rigged the car to fall as she wanted it to for the miniature."

Nick, who had been staring at the photographs for a short period of time, looked up at this. "I'm guessing she rewired it. That's the only way I can think to turn a car over like that, short of slamming it."

"What about if she sparked it?" Greg blushed a little as he added, "A few years back, a friend of mine lost my keys and hot-wired my car… except he did it wrong and almost killed himself. The car was wrecked and he was lucky to get out alive."

Catherine chuckled slightly at this. "And we're glad "your friend" is with us today, Sanders." Greg turned red and looked down at his feet, but she continued. "In the context, I don't know. Short of looking at the car, I don't think we're going to get very far debating about it…"

She paused as she saw Lexi burst through the door. The reporter looked at them all, before stuttering out,

"She's… she's awake."

They were up on their feet and following her out, back through the corridors to Sara's room, Grissom heading the way with a renewed vigour and hope. As they poured in, Sara's eyes opened to them, viewing them all in turn, a smile dawning on her lips as she recognised their faces.

"Greg, Nick…" she croaked, her voice no more than a growl from her throat with tiredness and pain. "Is that you, Warrick?" She gave an exhausted, hazy smile to them all. "Cath… you're… you're all here."

Nick grinned, so happy to see her in better condition, and he pushed Lexi forward to the front of the group. "This is Lexi, Sara. She saved you, pulled you out of the car." His eyes were triumphant and Sara recognised his fondness instantly.

"Then I'm very glad to meet you," she murmured. Her expression turned to Gil now, and she gave a polite nod before asking, "And who are you?" An uncomfortable laugh spread through the room, and the supervisor peered at her over the top of his glasses.

"Don't you know me?" She shook her head and he paused before uttering, "I'm… Gil Grissom."

"I'm Sara Sidle." Her voice was full of sincerity as she attempted to offer him a hand that didn't quite make its full extension through fatigue. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr Grissom. How do you know my team?"


	10. S8 E1 10

"Explain it to me."

Grissom's eyes narrowed as he squared up to the doctor. Sara had insisted that she was uncomfortable with a stranger in her room, and had clung onto Lexi to stay with her, to talk about what had happened: while the two women were in the room, under Nick's supervision, they were working their way back through the night.

Gil, however, had been cast out into the hall, and was now attempting to coerce answers from Sara's listed attendant. The doctor, a short, broad woman with patience worth testing, crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at Grissom through her tiny eyes.

"It's called selective amnesia," she said. "It often happens in trauma victims: you must have seen it before?"

"Briefly, but not so close to home," Grissom replied. "Please, tell me more."

"The mind blanks out specific things: people, places, memories, senses. It's different in every circumstance, but we've found a common trend in the subjects forgotten. Often, it's the thing at the forefront of the patient's conscious thought." She smiled a little. "You should be flattered."

Gil's face was grey. "That brings me little comfort. Thank you, doctor." He was so disappointed with it all: here she was, awake, and she didn't even know who he was, forget want to pick up from where they left off.

Turning away, he looked through into her room. Sara was sitting up in her bed, talking with Nick and Lexi. She was animated, evidently happy to the core to be alive and well: every sign of her body language was excited and grateful. But as she caught Grissom watching at the window, she fell suddenly quiet and leaned across to Lexi, murmuring something that caused the reporter to look back at the window. In turn, Lexi spoke softly to Nick before the two stood up and came towards the door.

"She wants to talk to you," Nick said. "But you need to remember, Griss… she doesn't know who you are."

The words passed straight through him, and he pushed forward, keen to be in her presence. As he stood there in the doorway, Sara pressed her lips together before quietly speaking. "Please shut the door, Mr Grissom."

Gil did as she asked and moved to approach her, but she put a hand up to stop him. "Don't…" She blushed and stammered an apology. "I'm… sorry, I really am. From what I understand, we're… we're closer than I know." It was difficult to explain, but she tried once more. "I need you to understand, Mr Gr- Gil," she corrected herself. "I… I can't launch into something I don't understand. I don't… know you. I don't have memories of… us."

He wanted to cry, it was clear, but he held back his emotion, swallowing it down. "I understand your position, Sara." He offered a weak smile as he moved back toward the door and with a sad look in his eyes, he added,

"I just hope your memories come back to you."


	11. S8 E2 1

**Season 8, Episode 2**

"Brass says it's all go down here."

Catherine, on her knees in a pile of leaves and dirt, twirled her torch upward, causing the light to sear across Warrick's eyes: the newcomer put a hand up to create some shadow as he dropped his kit to the ground with the slightest clatter. He surveyed the scene in silence, flagging the three dead women as they lay, gagged and bound, against the wall.

"No blood, no injuries on the girls, I'm thinking we're going to need a tox panel as well as a SAE kit for each of them." Her face was ashen as she spoke. "They aren't older than eighteen, Warrick, what the hell are they getting into?"

Warrick sighed. These cases always got to Catherine, who saw her own daughter's expression in their pale faces, and he dropped down to the ground beside her, pulling his camera from his side to his eye to begin his documentation.

"They're young, Catherine. Probably playing with drugs." He pulled a face. "You just never know what it's been cut with until it's too late." It was true and it was a sadly acknowledged fact in the department. All to often, things went wrong because the purchasers didn't quite know what they were getting. "We'll have to wait until we get a screen, though."

Catherine nodded in silence, rolling each of the girls over in turn. Her keen eyes scoured for something - anything - and soon, she caught what she was looking for. From the corner of the first girl's pocket, she dragged out a concert ticket.

"Ripley Walker."

"He's in town?" Warrick's eyes sparked with curiosity, and Catherine raised a curious eyebrow.

"You know who that is?"

"You don't?" He laughed. "Ripley Walker is the big thing right now, Cath. Lindsay must have been playing something…"

"I don't see Lindsay for long enough these days to _hear _what she's been playing. It's signed, though: black marker. Groupies?" She grimaced as she caught and added a hair from another girl's collar to her findings. "There's not too much here, as far as I can see. There's a security camera on this corner, I'll get Sofia to chase a video."

Warrick gave assent as she stepped away, before allowing himself to glance after her. Poor Catherine, she was always dealing with _something_: trying to spend time with her ever-growing daughter must prove a nightmare. He knew himself how hard it was to find five minutes with Tina…

"You know, Lindsay'll be okay. She's got a smart mom, she knows what's right."

Catherine blushed a little but smiled in thanks. Why did Warrick say things like that and prove himself to be so _sweet?_ Flicking her phone open, she put it to her ear: she had work to focus on right now, and a case that looked set to be the next big thing.


	12. S8 E2 2

A high-profile case: this was just what Grissom desperately needed to keep his mind active and away from dwelling on Sara's amnesia. Although all he wanted to do was think about her, the pain it cause at each thought was unbearable, and this distraction was perfect.

Pulling his Denali around the corner and parking it up behind the others', he already saw his team assembled and at work: they always were ready before he got there, and it made him smile to think he had taught them well.

"What have we got?"

Catherine's smile is grim as she recounts circumstances so far: the thought that a public-eye figure such as Ripley Walker was only going to make it more difficult, but nothing had been said aloud just yet.

_Thank God_, Grissom thought. As soon as it got out, the lab would be under complete scrutiny: his fascination with Natalie Davis would be exposed, his relationship with Sara would be torn apart and his judgement called into question at every turn. The Tom Haviland case flew back to the forefront of his mind, and his shook his head. Not this time.

"Greg, I want you on the perimeter," he ordered. "And Nick, I need you to keep the press at bay."

-

Finally, most of the reporters had ceased their questioning and deserted in search of another story elsewhere: Nick had proved his worth in deflecting their questions away from anything near to the truth, and he was left with something of a smile on his face as he watched yet another car draw away.

He ducked under the tape briefly, his eyes scanning the area. Only one car remained, unmarked as a police department vehicle, and as he started towards it, a voice called him back.

"It's mine."

His ears twitched: he knew that voice. He turned back and found himself motionless as he caught her. "Lexi." Her name seemed to trip off his tongue and he turned red with shyness, dipping his eyes down to the ground. "I… wasn't expecting to see you here."

She smiled a little, pulling her jacket tight around her, accentuating the curves of her body as she shoved her notepad into her jeans back pocket and moved forward to give him a hug. Nick could feel his heart pounding against his ribcage and wondered if she could feel it too.

As she pulled back, she spoke softly to him. "How's Sara doing?"

"She's good, we're hoping to get her out of there by tomorrow evening." He grinned, tugging his cap down just over his eyes and pushing his hands nervously into his own pockets. Surely enquiries about Sara weren't the only reason she was out here, squaring up to him like this in the dark streets of Las Vegas? Maybe she was there to actively seek him out. "So… what are you doing here?"

Lexi grinned, pushing her hair back from her face with one hand. "I'm doing what you're doing, silly: working. I hear you've got quite the case here." Nick, attempting to look confused, frowned and the girl in front of him giggled. "Oh come on, Nick: you guys have been all too quiet about this one. My guess is you've got something a bit more important than usual. Who is it? The mayor? The sheriff? A local hero?"

Ah, finally her imperfection had arisen: Lexi's job was to investigate, as was Nick's, but he didn't want her knowing what he knew. Unfortunately, her guesses were curving all too close and they both knew it from the awkward silence that descended.

"It's someone of importance, isn't it?"

"We don't know anything for certain," he said firmly. "And I can't confirm or deny anything…"

Now he was playing hardball, and Lexi smirked slightly as she decided it was time to push for the bluff. "Fine, well I'll run my guesses to print, then. Nothing like a bit of speculation to drive the state mad, right?"

"No, don't." His hand lashed out, grabbing her arm and holding onto her. Lexi's eyes shot up to hold his, and her lips curled into a kinky little smile.

"And how are you going to stop me from telling them, hey?"

Nick's heart was racing. She had taken a guess and been lucky, and now she was threatening what the lab had deliberately been working particularly hard to keep secret. She was already reaching for her cell, and he chose to act on impulse.

He pulled her forward and pressed his lips fervently against hers, occupying her attention and momentarily knocking her from her goal. One arm snaked around her waist, pulling her body fully against his, and she responded positively, her hands reaching up to his neck. Her tongue traced softly against his lips before she withdrew ever so slightly, her nose nuzzling his.

"That… could work," she whispered, somewhat unsurprised at his reaction to her tell-tale attitude. Her fingers curled against the top edge of his ear and she smiled, pressing a further slight kiss onto his lips. "How about we make a deal, CSI Stokes?" she added, her fingertip tracing over the name embroidered onto his jacket. "You give me a call when you finish your shift and we finish this… and I'll keep this to myself?"

_Talk about taking one for the team. _Nick nodded quietly, still a little taken aback that he had reacted like that - not that he minded so much, it was just so out of character - and released her from his grip.

"I'll be out of here in an hour or so."

She smiled, a glint in her eyes that told him he'd want to get out of there as soon as possible. "In which case, I look forward to your call."


	13. S8 E2 3

"Where are you going?"

Warrick managed to catch Nick's exit out of the very corner of his eye and couldn't let him escape without an explanation: it was too kind on him to let him just leave. And so, leaving the ticket on the evidence room desk, he walked across to the door and leaned on the frame, his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised in a judgemental fashion.

Nick, already feeling his ears burning, paused and bashfully turned back as he pulled his gloves onto his hands. "I've got a meeting."

"At three a.m.?"

"Yes."

Warrick snorted in reply: it was too easy to make jibes, and he simply let Nick slip out of the building as he returned to his task. He had slowly been going through the contents of the girls' pockets and handbags. There was little there: every wallet was devoid of cash and cards, and only drivers' licences remained as lucky reminders of who each of these young ladies were. _God_, it was so sad to see their smiling faces on those little bits of laminated cards…

"How's it going?"

Catherine dropped her file onto the desk, opening it and pulling out the photographs she had gathered from Doc Robbins. She laid them out on the light-top table at the top of the assigned collections of belongings and clothes, before pulling a face and reading off their names.

"Anna Jamison, Jane Nomads and Molly Delaney. All of them seventeen, all of them too young to be here." She laughed slightly. "Not a mark on their bodies, all three of them have traces of having had sex tonight. Condoms each time."

"Same guy?"

"Could be." She sighed. "Doc Robbins has sent blood samples to tox, we won't have them for another hour at least: I put rush on them, though. I want to get this one sorted."

This was obviously taking her harder than she'd ever care to admit, and Warrick smiled slightly as he put his hand on hers on the table. His fingers twisted around hers, and he squeezed softly, silently: he didn't need to say anything to convey his purpose.

"So we know who they are, and where they were," Catherine murmured, her voice a mere croak with the combined sadness of murder and heartbreak. "We need to find out why they're dead, how and who did it." Her eyes fall on the ticket once more. "And I think this guy's got something to do with it. Can we call him in?"

"We don't have enough yet," Warrick responded. "We've got an autograph and that's it. I'm thinking, if we hit up the venue? see if we can get someone to tell us whether these kids were hanging around, whether they went backstage, that kind of thing."

Catherine nodded in agreement. "Let's roll."

---

He lay back on the bed, naked and exhausted, one arm bent back to support his head, the other wrapped tightly around her. _God_, that had been a little unexpected. When she had said 'finish things', he had presumed she was suggesting a little more of the heavy kissing and general deliverance on continued flirtation, but the hours of agonisingly good sex he had just experienced were not to go unappreciated.

As soon as he'd arrived, as soon as she'd opened the door, the tension that had been dwelling had received its release. She had literally grabbed him and dragged him inside, and it hadn't been too long before things had far exceeded acceptable levels of first-date. His whole body ached, wet with sweat, saliva and semen, yet his desire to sleep just couldn't be quenched. While she lay in slumber beside him, Nick's mind was actively running at full speed. It had been some considerable time since he'd had such an encounter, and, he had to confess, he'd loved it.

And as he lay next to her now, looking at her body engrossed in white silk sheets, he could easily see himself doing this again - and again, and again - and continuing things. Nick Stokes was a self-confessed romantic, although few knew it, but this was his kind of girl.

The clock beside the bed sang out nine a.m. with a slight buzz that he stopped with a gentle hand. Slipping from the bed, he pulled on his boxers and wandered through the apartment: he went through to the kitchen, and knocked the coffee-machine's warm-up button. As he stood there, his elbows against the counter top, he looked around: the apartment was small but big enough, richly decorated without being too much.

The letterbox clattered, and, abandoning the coffee, he followed his usual instinct, desperately hungry to find out more about her. He gathered up a couple of letters alongside the paper and dropped them all onto the countertop as he continued to make up some sort of breakfast.

Coffee, fruit and post piled up onto a tray, he carried it all through to the bedroom to find that she was sitting up in bed, brushing through her hair with her fingers. She smiled upon seeing him and placed a sultry little kiss on his lips as she snatched up the paper, eagerly unfurling it. Her eyes widened with glee as she looked at the front page.

"Something good?" Nick murmured, seating himself down beside her and peering over her shoulder at the paper. It was with a sickening strike to his stomach that he saw the headline: **Celebrity Murder Investigation Undertaken**, and her name in leaden print beneath.


	14. S8 E2 4

**A/N: Many thanks go to ****foxdvd**** for her amazing help and advice **

Warrick offered the photos to the burly security guard as he stood at the club door, his thick arms crossed over his chest. The man looked at them with an inquisitive eyebrow, and his eyes, sunk deep within his face, widened all that they could.

"Yeah, I know these girls. There were four of them, last night. Lins, Jane, Molly and…" He paused, forgetful, and Warrick chipped in.

"Anna."

"That's the one." The guard moved a fat finger to point at the photos. "Cute, too young to be here, as far as I'm concerned, but Mr Walker insisted they come through to him. I think he took a liking, if you know what I mean?"

A shiver ran down Warrick's spine. Sex with a minor - multiple minors, if they could get the proof. "So you let them in. How long were they in there?"

His interlocutor looked a little uncomfortable now, and shifted his hefty weight to the other foot. "Look, confidentially? I'm meant to stick around here until these celebrities leave the building. But, it got to three a.m. and I wanted to sleep, so I…" He paused and blushed. "I just left. I was meant to be picking up the shift at seven anyway, so I thought a few hours of sleep wouldn't make a difference. Honestly, nobody would have noticed…"

"And they weren't here when you got back?"

The man shook his head. "I came back, checked the room: everything was in mint condition. It still is, if you want to look?"

Warrick nodded, and as he followed the big man through the surprisingly small corridor to the dressing rooms, he found himself going through the events. Obviously this had all gone down the night before, for the girls to have been found this evening at midnight…

The door was pushed open, and he bit his lip as he glanced around the room. Two couches making an L-shape in one corner, a large double bed to the other side of the room. The perfect place for trouble…

"A lot of these famous guys like having somewhere to crash pre or post gigs," the security guard explained, noting Warrick's querying look. "They're flying about and stuff, they need to catch sleep when they can, you know?"

"Sleep. Right."

He shook his head. This was all too horrible: he should be used to it by now, but sometimes, a case came along where it was almost impossible to detach, and this is one of them. Maybe because of Catherine's influence…

"Polaroid camera - room property?"

He picked it up with a gloved hand, pulling a half-formed picture out of the machine. He shook it for a moment before turning it around. It was a self-taken picture of the group of girls with Walker, and he felt the air catch in his chest as he realised who the fourth girl was: the mysterious 'Lins' was the recognisable face of Lindsay Willows.

---

"How _dare_ you?"

Nick's face was red, redder than he'd ever known it to be. He was so angry, felt so betrayed: he felt like a real idiot, falling for some silly girl's plan to bed him and betray him.

Lexi, however, sat back in her bed, completely unphased. She pulled the sheet up to her chin, letting it fall around her, and she smiled ever so slightly as she snuggled down, bending her knees up and encouraging the material to slip down every line of her body.

"Good morning to you too."

"Are you actually joking?" How could she be all innocent and friendly like that, pretending as if nothing had happened? She had sent her story to print in that hour-window and _still_ drawn things along, pretending she was all sugar and saintliness! "You said to me you wouldn't print it."

She laughed a little at this. "Sweetheart, I need to be able to afford this place. I got a front-page story, and it's all speculation anyway. The more you say, though, the more you convince me that I'm right…" Nick's gaze was cold. "Oh come on, Nick, it's fine. It's not like I named you or anything."

It wasn't the point: she was missing it entirely. Nick simply grunted in frustration and started to drag his clothes back on, stepping into his jeans and pulling them up, turning away from her. Lex simply laughed, grabbing at his arm playfully.

"Come back to bed, lover."

Her tones, although tempting, were ignorable: what she had done, to Nick, was unforgivable. "I've got things to do. I'm sure you've got blood to suck or something."

She pouted and rolled over, with a stroppy teenager's 'fine' as she pulled the sheet over her head. Nick, glancing at her, pressed his lips together tightly as he tugged on his socks and jammed his feet angrily into his trainers. He felt _stupid_, stupid like he'd never been before. He'd let his libido put him in such a risqué position, and now he felt… vulnerable, used.

Finally, he slipped his arms into his sleeves and pulled his shirt across his body, his fingers bumbling against the buttons in a desperate attempt to get them done up. He wanted to get out of there - he wanted to get straight back into the lab, away from this venomous girl and into the safety of a place he knew he had an element of control over.

Slamming the door on his way out, he paused for a moment, staring back at the door as he waited for the elevator. Part of him expected her to pursue him, the other part knew she never would. Part of him just wanted to storm back in there, slam her against the bed and teach her a lesson.

_God_, what had she done to him?

---

"I've got your video footage from the traffic camera on the corner of 92," Sofia said as she rounded the corner and spotted Catherine half-way down the corridor. "I went through it with Archie: you'll love this. White van backs up onto the kerbside, back doors open but we don't see, when it pulls away, there they are."

"Did you get a licence plate?"

Sofia smiled. "Got to love the American way: plates on the back, not on the front. I've got your make and model, but no more than that at the moment. Archie's working on chasing some more tape, seeing if we can track the vehicle back the way it came. I'm hoping we can get something that way."

The blonde handed her findings over to Catherine, who nodded gratefully as she scanned through the file briefly with her eyes. A Ford, E250, a fairly common make - typical - but she loved nothing more than a challenge.

"What else have we got?"

"Nothing from me," the detective answered, pulling her hair over one shoulder. "I think Warrick said he wanted to talk to you about something or other, but he didn't give me any more to go on for now…"

She opened he mouth to add something further when Brass wheeled around the corner, brandishing a newspaper in one hand. "Have you lot seen this?" He held it out to them, thrusting Lexi's article into their line of sight: Catherine felt herself growing hot as she read it. _Fucking_ reporters, always knew exactly how to cause hell right when it wasn't needed. There was a murmur of exasperated complaint from Sofia, and Catherine echoed her words: recollection of the previous night's work reminded her of Gil's instructions to Nick to put any concepts of such stories out of the minds of the press. Yet…

"If Lexi Stranhope hadn't saved Sara's ass, I'd have her done." Brass was in one of those moods, and Catherine thought better than to say anything further. "Can we get this case to bed, please, as soon as? I'm not having this girl stirring shit before it hits the fan."

He moved slowly down the corridor back to his office, and Catherine followed him, eager to get a lead on her white van. Sofia started to wander back to the break room, only to walk into an agitated-looking Nick. The young CSI looked absolutely drained, and his skin was a soft grey shade: he was wearing the same clothes as the night before, and Sofia frowned.

"Who chewed you up and spat you out last night?"

Her question was obviously tasteless, although she didn't know it, and he gave her a blank look as he passed her by. She opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it and left him to it. Today was not the day, it seemed.

---

Greg Sanders wheeled into the trace lab at Hodges' paged orders, and rolled his eyes as the man himself held a file up above his head, just out of reach. Greg moved to jump for it, but Hodges swung it out of his grip, holding it behind him.

"So tox sent your blood panels to me," he murmured, a look of glee on his face. "You're going to love what I've got for you."

Greg pulled a face, irritated by Hodges' typical attitude of 'I-know-something-you-don't-know', but he bit his lip and simply answered, "From the autopsy report, I'm guessing we have a drug fix. Each of the girls died in the same way: a heart attack, caused by a surge of activity."

Hodges nodded. "So let me offer you a cocktail. C8H10N4O2-"

"-caffeine-"

"-with a sprinkling of C11H15NO2-"

"-ecstasy-"

"-and a dash of C17H21NO4…?"

"Cocaine?"

"Add a splash of brodifacoum and you've got your answer. Cut to the max, I'm not surprised these girls' hearts shorted out." Hodges finally handed his report over to Greg, pointing to the top page. "Talk about a mix: they didn't stand a chance with a molotov like that. They probably thought they were taking straight ecstasy or coke."

Greg winced a little. "Because that'll be good for you."

"Well, when you're young and free and trying to impress, you'll try anything. And then you get stuck with a straw up your nose and talcum powder all through your inner nasal tract while some girl called Sheila's laughing at you for trying…"

Hodges' gaze fell into the distance, and Greg glanced around cautiously before sidling out of the room. That guy was too weird to be taken in anything smaller than the tiniest of doses.

---

It was with a considerable amount of surprise that Catherine opened her door to be greeted by Warrick. He was always particularly charming and direct, but he scarcely ever turned up on her home doorstep, especially at this time of the morning. She laughed, a little nervous, making a joke about her scruffy appearance of slacks and an oversized Michigan sweater that had belonged to Eddie, and invited him in.

"I actually needed to speak to Lindsay," Warrick murmured quietly, unsure of quite how to broach this subject with her. Catherine smiled.

"That's very sweet of you, Warrick, but I've already talked to her about everything that happened. She understands." He sighed a little and pressed her to sit: she lowered into a seat at the kitchen table and stared at him. "What's going on?"

Warrick was never one to beat around the bush and so, taking the seat beside her, he put his hand on hers and murmured, "Grissom's ordered me to take you off the case." She frowned, her eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and began to ask as to what the _hell_ was happening, when Lindsay walked into the room.

The silence fell, uncomfortable and icy over them all. Catherine, still confused, caught Warrick's look toward her daughter and a chill ran through her.

"Lindsay, I need you to tell me where you were two nights ago."

Lindsay visibly swallowed, but remained quiet. Warrick sighed, the sound heavy from his chest, and glanced at Catherine, a look of apology in his eyes as he added,

"If we're not going to talk here, we'll talk at the police department. Make up your mind."

"Then let's go."

The defiant tone in her voice was one Warrick understood. She didn't want to talk about it here, with Catherine present: LVPD was a preferable location. And so he motioned towards the door, towards his car, and Lindsay went: Catherine, mortified, moved to follow but Warrick put a hand on her shoulder.

"Please let me do this my way, Catherine. You know I'll look after her."

Before Willows could object, he had gone, closing the door on Lindsay and jumping up into the driver's seat of the Denali. She heard the revv of the motor, and watched as he pulled away. Her mind was buzzing at a thousand, and she swallowed, feeling her stomach rising to her throat. What… what had Lindsay done?

---

He hadn't been able to keep his mind off her after all: deserting the others in the lab, Grissom had driven out to Valley Rain to see her. Not that she knew: he sat as a visitor in the corridor, his eyes trained on her door, hoping for a glimpse or a flicker of her image. He couldn't face work, he couldn't face not being there with her, even as no more than a ghost to her. And so he sat there waiting, patient, numbed by longing and desire to see her, touch her.

---

"Mr Walker?"

Lexi's voice was laced with that naughty and mischievous tone. She had been waiting for about an hour, sitting on the steps of the Regency hotel, her mind occupied with contemplation on anything and everything Nick had given away. His absence of a denial as to subject of investigation had led Lex into her own investigation, searching for stars who happened to have been in the city on the night in question. Ripley Walker's two-day stint of performances, followed by a few days' rest in Vegas, had offered him as a fairly good shot, and she was acting on impulse now.

She had obviously caught his attention, and she smiled slightly, flirtatiously, as she approached him. He offered her a returned grin, perhaps thinking that he had a lucky catch, and started with his genuinely charming introduction.

"Please, call me Ripley." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss against her cheek and curling the tip of his tongue against her flesh as means of suggestion: Lexi, obviously a pretty good player in this game, gave the necessary giggle.

"I know it's terribly cheeky," she started, "but I wondered if we could go for a drink."

Ripley glanced back at a nearby entourage consisting of agent and a couple of rough-looking bodyguards and waved at them to approach. Lexi, fearful that she had upset him, started to apologise, but he laughed and slipped an arm around her.

"I'm taking this young lady out for a bit: I'll call you when I want picking up."

It was a veritable order, and the two were about to leave when Lexi saw a squad car pull up at the bottom of the hotel staircase. From it exited Jim Brass, a face she recognised from the Sidle escapade, and…

_Fuck._

Nick's face remained calm as he came over: he hardly acknowledged her, in fact, and simply kept his eyes trained on Ripley.

"Ripley Walker?"

"If you're after an autograph, officer, you can just ask." Walker flashed a acid-white smile to Nick as he squeezed Lexi against him before releasing her. "How can I help?"

"We're investigating the death of three girls."

He offered fake sympathy and uttered, "That's a real shame, officer, but what's it to do with me?"

Nick found himself swallowing to strengthen himself as he turned his eyes towards Lexi. "I'm sure whatever she wants from you can be delivered at another time," he said coldly, looking directly at her. "However, right now, I'd quite like you to come downtown to answer a few questions."

Ripley looked embarrassed for a moment, but Lexi, as a slight offer of affection to Nick, bid he go. Tantalisingly slowly, she leaned up on tiptoe and, nuzzling his ear softly, she whispered, "I'll catch you later, I promise."

The young singer grinned and patted her ass with the flat of his hand before focusing on Nick once more. "Let's go then, officer. You can ask what you want: I've got nothing to hide."

He continued down the stairs, motioning for a couple of members of his collective to follow; while his back was turned, Nick gave Lexi a sharp look.

"If you're interfering in my investigation, I'll have you arrested."

"I think you'll find, Mr Stokes, that you're interfering in _my _investigation." She smirked. "I'll forgive you though, because I'm nice like that."

_Ugh_. Nick turned on his heel in fury at her impertinence, and headed back to the car. She was such a malicious little creature. All he wanted to know was what she'd said, and how she'd already narrowed down a suspect like that with so little evidence: she was evidently good at the investigation thing, wasted as a reporter.

This was already getting far too messy.


End file.
